Ok so I'm not gay but I'm Swedish and have a fantasy where Germany win world war two and Sweden needs to export aryan twink boipussy slaves to high ranking SS officers for pleasure. I imagine I'm a shy little blonde twink with smooth pale skin and being brought into komedant heinrichs bedroom to give him pleasure. He is a tall broad shoulders kraut with a jawline that could cut a diamond and with massive daddy muscles and I'm a pathetic skinny little boipussy twink. He pulls me into his arms force kissing me and pressing my chest against his. He pins me down on the bed tearing my cute lil virgin panties off, he has waited for this for a long time. He teases my boipussy with his massive thicc German cock and then he goes all in. Fucking me with a force I've never felt before. Every thrust makes him moan with pleasure. I love the fact I give him pleasure. He cums deep into my sissy swede guts, breeding my booty hole then he cuddles me with his strong masculine German arms until I fall asleep on his chest.
Any other straight guys have similar fantasies?
(▀̿Ĺ̯├┬┴┬┴ Psst... kid, you wanna disable adblock?
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I finally did it. I out pizza'd the Hut
I finally did it. I out pizza'd the Hut. It was the greatest mistake of my life.
After years of perfecting my recipe, I made my way down to the local hut, fresh-baked pizza pie in hand. "Try this," I told the kid working the counter. He did, and he had to agree that it was better than anything Pizza Hut had to offer. Soon, the entire store, customers included, was feasting on my delicious pie. The manager walked over, grabbed a slice, and took a bite. I look at him, anticipation rising. This was the boss, the local fief lord of the Hut. His approval meant more to me than all the rest combined. He took a bite and nodded. "I'll be damned," he said, "you really did it. You out- pizza'd the Hut. Shame." Shame? What did he mean by tha-- the manager pulled a gun out from behind his apron and shot the nearest customer in the head. "We have a Code Jalapeño," he said into his wrist as he executed the remaining customers. "I repeat, we have a Code Jalapeño." The ground was slick with blood. The kid working the counter choked out his dying breath as the manager turned to me. "You just had to do it motherfucker. You just had to out pizza the Hut." He shoved the gun in my face. I was too scared to fight, too scared to run. The manager pulled the trigger.
A click. The gun was empty. I threw a chair at the manager and scrambled out of the Pizza Hut, not even bothering to see if my missile hit its mark. I was closely pursued by the manager, who had gotten his hands on a deadly sharp pizza cutter. I suspected in his hands it would cut more than pizza. Somehow, I was able to get into my car and speed off, the manager cursing my existence as I left him behind. I took a deep breath. The manager was clearly psychotic. Yes, that was it, just a crazy man with a gun. It had to be. My phone rang. Sister. I picked it. "They're dead, she sobbed. They're all dead. Mom, Dad, Chris, Bill. Dead. They killed them all." I could barely understand her, so great were her sobs. "What do you mean? Where are you?" I asked urgently. "How is this possi--" A single gunshot sounded through my phone's speakers. Silence. Then, I heard a man's voice. "No one out pizzas the Hut." He hung up. I drove down the empty country road, mind blank. I had nothing. They killed my family. I was alone.
At that moment I knew what I had to do. They took everything from me. Well then, I would take everything from them. Pizza Hut was so terrified of being out pizza'd, they forgot there's one thing worse than a man with a recipe: A man with nothing to lose. I'll give them a limited time offer they won't be able to refuse: two bullets for the price of one.
With a free side order of pain.
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what if we all spam the same thing?
what if we all spam the same thing?
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